Of All the Broken Things
by Mad Hatter - J
Summary: When Nellie took the job as Tony's assistant, she thought all she would have to deal with was a pile of paperwork and the occasional world crisis. She was certain that dealing with a PTSD-riddled super-soldier, and the ego of a demigod was not part of the plan. AU: Post-Civil War - Steve and Tony made up (sort of). Eventual post-Ragnarok - Thor and Loki make it back to Earth.
1. Chapter 1: How It All Started

**HOW IT ALL STARTED**

The Bucky thing started about a year after she had first begun working for Tony. In the time she had been Tony's assistant, she'd had the opportunity to get to know each of the Avengers; learning to see past the media portrayal of them for who they actually were – which was surprisingly normal. They had come to see her, not quite as part of the team, but perhaps more accurately as part of the furniture; she was just always around, doing her work, never truly involved in a mission. But she could always be counted on when they needed an objective point of view on something, or someone comfortable to shoot the shit with. After a time she was no longer simply Tony's assistant; she had suddenly found herself an accepted member of the dysfunctional family. It had gotten to the point now where she practically lived at the compound. And that was where she ran into her first problem.

"So I've been 'spoken to' about a little issue we seem to have," Tony announced one morning, as they walked together down one of the compound's long corridors. The wall to their right was floor-to-ceiling glass, and gave a perfect view of the manicured ground and designated training areas outside; the dull gray runway in the distance contrasting with the green lawns.

Nellie glanced up from the stack of papers in her arms, so used to the landscape that the view barely interested her now, finding herself more concerned with this latest news. Tony nodded before she could even ask the question. This walk had become part of their daily routine, occurring at random one day during her first week with him, and continuing every day since. She spent long days (and long nights) researching, or otherwise reading through material he found tedious, and then they spent the morning walk either discussing or sharing what she had found to be of interest. It wasn't often that she actually found too much that could be deemed entirely relevant or interesting, and even rarer still to find something that _he_ might find interesting. But if he had to be honest, these morning walks had become part of his routine – something he might have even looked forward to; but being who he was, it always managed to maintain an appropriate air of business.

"Turns out you're not actually allowed to reside in the compound after work hours," he told her, holding up a finger as she opened her mouth to protest, continuing, "I did argue that in your defense you don't actually have set work hours, but that only seemed to drag up more issues with the council. Employment violations, etcetera, etcetera." These apparent violations didn't seem to faze him.

"I don't 'reside'– So, wait, what is the actual problem, here?" she frowned and refocused on flipping through pages, passing him a few documents that she thought he might find to be of interest. The first time she had tried this, on the morning of their very first walk, the notes had fluttered straight to the ground. They had stopped to look at each other, appearing equally confused by the other's actions. It wasn't until it happened a second time that she finally decided to bring it up with Natasha, since she had once served in a similar position (albeit undercover at the time). She had since learned to work around what Natasha had described as 'Tony's ridiculous habits', and the day he had finally, unceremoniously accepted something from her was still earmarked in her mind as one of the most successful days of her life (at least so far).

"You can't live here anymore," he answered now, taking the pages from her, eyes briefly scanning the highlighted sections. He gave a small shake of his head, as if it wasn't what he was looking for.

"But I-"

"You don't have the clearance."

"You're kidding me? I've been doing this for months. It's only become an issue for them now?"

He handed back the pages without comment, tilting his head from side to side as if weighing up the best answer to give. "They may have only just found out."

"And how did that happen?" She couldn't imagine Tony ratting her out over something so trivial as a technicality. Then it hit her.

"Rogers," they said at the same time. A smile twitched at the corner of Tony's mouth.

"Really?" she asked, eyes narrowing further as she threw in another, "Really?"

"He thinks you're working too hard."

"Isn't he the one who, like, made a whole video series on the benefits of hard work and perseverance?"

"Turns out that might only be for high schoolers. I mean look where hard work and perseverance got me. Dealing with people like Steve Rogers on a near-daily basis."

"Yeah, you're right. I should quit while I'm ahead."

"But, speaking of," he went on, sounding more to the point, "I may have a solution to this problem."

"Kick him off the team?"

He gave a light snort. "Not the problem I'm talking about."

"So you're not going to fight this? Don't you fund the Avengers? Can't you just change the rules?"

"Doesn't work that way. Turns out money can't buy everything after all."

She came to a stop and looked at him, taken aback.

"I know," he told her, sounding just as skeptical.

"Can I get that on the record? Specifically on video? I swear it's not to send to Pepper."

Though Tony and Pepper were still slowly easing back into their relationship after a brief (nearly-twelve month) hiatus, she visited the compound almost weekly, and he now spent every weekend in the city with her. It was a newly-adjusted work-life balance that seemed to work for the pair, and they seemed all the happier for it.

"I really shouldn't have let you two to swap numbers," he said.

"It's just for emergencies," she assured him, forcing back a grin.

"Mm-hm," he replied, not at all convinced.

"Definitely not for sharing pictures or videos of you at your expense."

He threw her a sarcastic smile before they took up their easy pace once again. "And that would be at my literal expense," he reminded her, "Since, like you said, I fund everything. Including your phone bill. But about this solution I came up with. I was thinking to myself 'Gee, Nellie needs somewhere to live. Hm, who else do I know that needs a roomie. And wouldn't you know it, the very same man who got you kicked out in the first place?"

"Cap?" she asked skeptically, her eyebrows shooting up.

Tony reached into his pocket, which gave an audible 'jingle' as he pulled out a small set of keys. He set them down on top of her stack of papers and she looked down at them.

"I've already organized the rest of your stuff to be sent there this afternoon. You get along with Steve, right?"

"Better than you do," she replied eyes still slightly wide. "You could have at least asked."

"I could have, but I didn't. Since I know most of your stuff is in storage, I took the liberty of ordering you some new furniture, too. What kind of mattress do you like? Medium? Plush? I went with medium, just to be safe. Should all be there by the time you get there tonight."

"Tonight?!"

"Is there an echo in here?" he said, looking around.

Taking all of this in, Nellie found herself surprised that he would have given Steve, of all people, a second thought; especially after everything that she had heard about their fallout surrounding the Sokovia Accords. But then, that was exactly why Steve lived off-site. He had distanced himself a little from those he had hurt, whether emotionally or otherwise. Though those relationships were still being mended even to this day – that trust still being restored – Steve was now at the compound pretty much every day. He had even been invited to one of Tony's most recent parties (though Nellie attributed that to Pepper's subtle diplomacy more than Tony's ability to set aside his pettiness).

"Can I assume that he at least knows about this arrangement?"

"You can."

"Tony."

"Yeah, he's been told. Now, how'd you go with the rest of those documents?"

* * *

She didn't know what was worse: being thrown headfirst into a new living arrangement with one of the last team members she would have ever pictured being roomies with, or the awkward car trip with him on the way to said living arrangement. As helpful as he had been in arranging the transport for the handful of belongings she had been keeping at the compound, Tony was blatantly absent when it came to her own transport. And so she had found herself in the front passenger seat of the navy blue P10 Plymouth, struggling to decide between keeping silent or attempting to make bad conversation. It didn't help that he kept shooting friendly but equally-awkward smiles in her direction as the silence grew more and more conspicuous; uncertainty marking his handsome face.

"Thanks for this," she finally said, breaking the silence.

He smiled at her again, this one coming across far more comfortable; almost relieved. "Well, as Tony was so helpful to remind me, numerous times I might add, it was my fault in the first place that your current set up was ruined. Sorry about that."

She frowned in his direction – not out of contempt, but in surprise at his sincerity. Not that Tony wasn't just as honest, but his brand of honesty was a finely-honed blend of bluntness and sarcasm. Steve Rogers was the politest person she had ever met (only just overtaking a certain young teen from Queens that she had recently been introduced to). This latest reminder provided a sudden boost in her confidence over their new arrangement. Maybe this would be okay after all.

She took her phone from out of her pocket as it began to buzz with incoming messages.

 **TONY: How's the trip going? Is the geezer hitting above 20 miles an hour yet?**

Smirking, she replied: **30, actually. He likes to live dangerously.**

"How do you find working with Tony?" Steve asked, and she almost jumped to hide the teasing texts.

"I enjoy it."

"He seems to work you pretty hard. I've always admired the effort you put in."

"Thanks?" she responded, thrown by the unexpected compliment.

He laughed.

"I mean, it mainly just reading," she added modestly, "Not exactly beating up bad guys and saving the world."

With a smile, Steve replied, "I've heard about some of the ideas you've come up, and I can tell you they help just as much."

Nellie smiled back. It was nice receiving compliments from someone so humble. She didn't get a lot of direct praise from Tony, but she had grown to recognize his ways of showing appreciation. Where Steve seemed to be more direct about it, Tony tended to weave it into sarcastic remarks or pass it on indirectly through other people. He was the kind to criticize you to your face and compliment you behind your back.

The conversation came more easily for the rest of the trip, and she found they talked mostly about her. He seemed interested in her background: where she had come from, what she had studied, what she had wanted to be when she finished school. He asked about her folks, how they felt about her working for Tony Stark; how she felt about working with the Avengers. Though she hadn't experienced a lot of one-on-one time with the national icon, she found him easy to talk to. The contrast in personalities between him and Tony was glaring, and though she was comfortable around them both, she found she settled into that sense of ease a lot faster with Steve. Tony Stark had been far more intimidating at first, before she had gotten to know his eccentricities. And though both had reputations to uphold, Steve Rogers had less to prove.

* * *

By the time they pulled up in front of the old, brick-style apartment building, the sun was beginning to set. Nellie moved to undo her seatbelt, but paused when she noticed Steve wasn't doing the same. He was staring at the dashboard, deep in thought, hands still resting on top of the steering wheel. He turned slowly to look at her.

"Before we go in, I need to tell you something. I probably should have mentioned it earlier. I'm not the only person you'll be sharing the apartment with."

The answer to her unspoken question struck her almost instantly. "Oh."

Steve nodded, studying her expression for any signs of alarm. "I don't know if Tony knows. He's surprised me before with that kind of thing. But I also get the feeling, all things considered, that he wouldn't have allowed you to come here if he did know. I was kind of surprised he came to me to begin with. You know how hard his trust has been to come by after, well, after everything that happened." She nodded as she listened. He was frowning lightly. "I just need to make sure you're okay with it. No doubt you're aware of what happened."

"I've heard bits and pieces," she replied, but she was distracted as she considered her actual feelings surrounding the man in question. She wasn't sure she had enough to go by to make a proper judgment call.

"Bucky's doing better. He hasn't had any episodes in a long time. He's managing. I think all this time away from everything – away from everyone – has really helped."

"I can imagine."

Steve looked at her as he noticed her absent tone.

"It should be fine," she finally told him.

"I wouldn't have agreed to bring you here if I thought you were in any danger. It might just take a little getting used to."

She wondered if he meant for her or for the man the world had once known as 'the Winter Soldier'.

"I think the best way to go about this is to take it slow," Steve went on. "Gradual introductions. That kind of thing."

"Sure. Sounds good," she nodded. That deep end suddenly felt a little deeper.

"And I'm sure, with time, you two will get along real well. He's a good man. He's just, well, you know."

"Been through a lot," she voiced for him, and he nodded. "Yeah, I heard."

He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, as if considering his next words very carefully. "I don't approve of choosing sides, not after what happened. But I can understand that your loyalty lies with Tony. All the same, I'd be grateful if you gave Buck a chance first. And…maybe don't tell Tony? At least not right away."

She chuckled softly. "That seems wise."


	2. Chapter 2: The Winter Soldier

**THE WINTER SOLDIER**

There was a strange sense of foreboding upon entering the apartment. It was quiet inside; neat and orderly as you would expect of a soldier's living quarters. Steve put away his duffel bag in the first bedroom they came to, then came out to direct her to her new room at the end of the hall. Her belongings – including a brand new bedroom set and mattress, as well as what looked like expensive bed linen – had already arrived, thanks to Tony's efficiency, and she figured she might as well get to work setting everything up; adding a personal touch to the space with what little of her own belongings she had on hand. She had moved around so much from place to place, never really staying put long enough to settle down, that she didn't have a lot in the way of furniture or bulky possessions.

She got started on making the bed first, running her new, silky sheets between her fingers with a smile, and pushing impressions of her digits into the bamboo fiber pillows before slipping them into their cases. The bedroom set itself – a simple, Scandinavian design – was something she would have chosen, had she been given the chance. That was the odd thing about Tony – he always just seemed to know.

When she had finally finished setting down and plugging in the black, industrial-style bedside lamps, she collapsed back onto the mattress, effectively ruining its finished appearance. Closing her eyes as she relaxed, she failed to notice Steve, who was leaning in the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest, smiling as he watched her.

"He must really like you," he said.

Her eyes jumped open and she turned her head to look at him. He nodded to the new furniture as she sat back up.

"This was probably just pocket change to the guy," she replied, an odd mixture of modesty and borderline-ungratefulness. She dragged herself lazily to her feet. It was a damn good mattress.

"Still, you think he spends this kind of money on the rest of the team?" Steve said, sounding weirdly inclusive of her in the comment.

"No. He just funds your whole compound and your equipment."

Steve smirked, gaze dropping down as he nodded. "How does spaghetti sound for dinner?" he asked, as he looked back up at her again.

"You cook?" she said, sounding impressed. The guy was built, handsome, polite, occasionally saved the world, _and_ he could cook?

"I try," he replied.

"How are you still single?" she asked and he laughed again, a touch of color to his cheeks now.

"Unfortunately, work takes priority," he replied simply, and she nodded. She could just imagine being his partner (something she didn't do that often – honest) and the stress she would go through knowing each mission could be his last. It was unsettling enough to know that Tony had taken to constantly carrying a suit with him on the off chance he suddenly found himself in some life-threatening situation; something that had proven more and more likely these days.

"You finish up doing what you're doing in here," Steve said, "I'll go make a start on the food."

"Sounds like a plan, Cap."

He smiled at the nickname and took his leave.

She headed for the bathroom after that to store her toiletries, but came to a stop as she found herself standing outside the door of the second bedroom. It was shut, with no light coming from underneath it except for what might have been the faint rays of the setting sun. Passing her intended destination, bag of items still clutched in her hand, she backtracked to the kitchen. She glanced over the various items scattered across the surface of the kitchen bench as Steve pulled a knife from out of the wooden block beside the oven.

"Quick question."

He turned to her and smiled obligingly.

"Bucky knows about me staying here, right? He knew I was coming?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Cool. Just checking."

"Trying to keep the surprises to a minimum for the moment," he explained as he began slicing up some onion, and she nodded.

She eyed the closed door again on her way back towards the bathroom, and was sure that this time she heard movement from behind it.

* * *

She had been setting out the last of her belongings in the shower – already feeling like she was invading the boys' space with her scented shampoo and conditioner, and the stash of make-up she had left in the cupboard below the sink – when she finally had her first run in with the ex-assassin. He didn't look nearly as surprised to see her in there as she thought he should. Her eyes had widened as she had glanced up from washing her hands and spotted him in the mirror standing in the doorway. He seemed more hesitant than surprised. Giving her hands a quick shake over the basin, she dried them on the towel provided and turned to greet him properly.

"You must be Nellie," he said, his voice deep and a little hoarse from underuse.

His hair was longer than she remembered it from the pictures of him that had been splashed all over the news; his short facial hair threatening its way to becoming a beard. She stuck out her hand instinctively and he glanced down at it for a moment, a small crease appearing on his brow before he took it. It took her a moment to remember how he had lost his other appendage, but she willed herself not to look, knowing it would be rude. But as she stepped aside to let him into the room, curiosity got the better of her and she risked a glance, catching a glint of silver at the end of his long-sleeved top. He turned back to her, not showing any sign that he had noticed.

"Steve's back, too?" he asked.

"Yeah. He's making spaghetti."

A brief grimace flittered across his features.

"No good?" she asked with a chuckle.

"Let's just say it's not his specialty. It might be good to have a woman around."

She wondered how much of his old values he had managed to retain through all the experimentation and torture, fighting back her knee-jerk need to call him out on it.

"What makes you think I can cook?" she asked instead.

A small smile appeared on his face and she found herself wondering what all the fuss was about with this guy. Surely this wasn't the same man who had almost killed Steve and Nat. But she thought when she really looked at him she could see some of those old ghosts milling about his features: the dark circles below his eyes, the subtle listlessness. Leaving him to it, she headed for the kitchen to test Bucky's theory on the food.

* * *

All-in-all it wasn't the worst meal she'd ever had. The best part had been Steve's proclamation as Bucky had entered the room that he was making his best friend's favorite, to which Bucky had shot Nellie a look. It had taken a great amount of effort on her part to keep from laughing.

Having dinner with two super-soldiers wasn't as intimidating as it first seemed. She had enjoyed listening to the two friends' banter, momentarily catching a glimpse of a personal side to the captain that she hadn't seen before; the bond shared between two men who had seen and lived through war together – two men out of time. When their talking eventually pattered out, Bucky seemed to go quiet. For a while the only sound other than the clink of forks against plates was the soft swing music coming from the record player in the living room. The overall atmosphere was calm, and though she was sure that this was more for Bucky's benefit than anything, it was a nice way to finish off the day. She could get used to this. Though she would never admit it to his face, she already found she much preferred this to Tony's frenetic energy and loud classic rock. She wondered if she ought to thank him for setting this up for her, then imagined (with a smile) the sort of questions that might raise. As she finished off the last of the pasta on her plate, she found herself tapping her toes to the beat of the brass.

* * *

"So how was your first night in the house that freedom built?" Tony asked the following morning.

Since she had been given the night off to settle into her new lodging, there wasn't much to go over on their usual morning walk, and she had been slightly surprised when Tony had presented her with her favorite Starbucks coffee blend. It wasn't the generosity that surprised her – the man was more selfless than he would ever be given credit for – but more so that he knew exactly what she drank from that particular establishment. He was by no means a snob when it came to where he got his coffee from – the average neighborhood coffee place would do in a pinch – but he was particular about what coffee he drank. Once he found a place he liked, he tended to stick to it. She wondered what had happened that morning for him to end up at a Starbucks.

She glanced at the side of his cup. Sure enough, the words **IRON MAN** stood out in black marker.

"It was real swell," she replied.

"Dear god, they've gotten to you already."

She chuckled and took a sip of the sweet, dirty chai. Without the usual reams of paperwork to distract her, she found herself actually enjoying the views outside the windowed corridor for once. She spotted Sam out in the field flying around as he practiced shooting targets out of the sky. A figure she thought might have been Steve watched him from below. It took her a second to realize that Tony had used 'they', but she was confident he hadn't meant it the way she thought. She had almost forgotten that she was keeping a secret from him. She didn't like it. She hated feeling like she was already being put in the middle of who had essentially been the two opposing sides of what was these days referred to (a little dramatically in her opinion) as the 'civil war'. Her loyalty would always put Tony first; he had, after all, given her the best opportunity of her life despite her lacking the qualifications of the other candidates. He had never really explained why he had chosen her, but knowing him as she did now, she was sure he had his reasons.

"Thanks for everything, by the way," she said to him, hoping he understood it to mean not only finding her a place to stay, but the new furniture, too.

"Don't mention it. Really. I don't want the others to start asking for favors. They're already missing you, by the way. Vision said it won't be the same now that he won't have to wake you up in the library almost every morning."

"See, falling asleep here and living here – two completely different things. I still don't know what the council was on about."

"Honestly? Neither do I half the time. I just assume I won't agree and tune most of it out."

She smirked and paused to take another sip of her coffee, watching out the window for a moment as Sam tossed something down to Steve, who deflected it easily and tossed it back with a little extra force than seemed necessary as Sam landed. She could practically see the goofy grin on Sam's face; the impatient look Steve would have thrown him in return.

"So I looked into some of the things from your notes yesterday," Tony said, breaking her from her thoughts, "I think you might be onto something." There it was – that subtle encouragement. She looked back at him. "I left some things on your desk that I thought might help you expand on that some more. I'll look into it in the meantime, but you let me know what you come up with."

"Same time tomorrow," she told him, not a question but a simple statement. He gave a nod as he took out his phone and wandered off towards the conference rooms, leaving Nellie to stand by the window and watch the two figures below as they began to walk back towards the compound.

* * *

Her desk was the usual picture of organized chaos; a combination of neatly compiled stacks of notes, a scattering of reference books, a mug or two of stale coffee, and files marked with varying levels of confidentiality (she had gradually achieved higher and higher clearance over time, but was certain that she hadn't quite reached the really important – not to mention most interesting – material). But as she approached her workspace she spotted something out of place. She plucked up the sticky-note first.

 **In case you get sick of Glenn Miller.**

She picked up the gift beneath it. AC/DCs 'Back in Black' album on vinyl. She smiled.


	3. Chapter 3: Grocery Shopping

**A/N: Quick thanks to everyone who has followed, favorited and reviewed! Always appreciated. I might just quickly add that this story will be sort of slow-burn. I have it all mapped out in my head though, and it won't look anything like how it started by the end. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **GROCERY SHOPPING**

It felt odd taking all of her paperwork home with her, not to mention pointless, since she would have to lug it all back with her again in the morning. She hadn't been able to carpool with Steve this time, since he'd had a few upcoming mission plans to go over with the others, and so she had taken advantage of the company driver she had at her disposal for such occasions. It was eerily quiet in the apartment when she finally stepped inside, her stack of files shoved haphazardly under one arm, another clutched in her mouth as she fought to tug her keys out of the lock. She listened out for any signs of life as she finally managed to nudge the door shut behind her. The place felt a lot less welcoming without the soft stream of music issuing from the record player, and Steve's optimistic presence. With a weary sigh, she set the files down on the dining table and went to dump her handbag in her room.

As she made her way back towards the kitchen, she slowed in front of the closed door of the second bedroom. She could hear movement in there again, but the apartment had looked the same as she and Steve had left it that morning. She wondered how often Bucky actually left his room when his friend wasn't around. She moved off towards the kitchen, stomach rumbling after a day fueled mainly by protein bars and coffee. It wasn't until she opened the fridge that she realized that she hadn't gone grocery shopping for herself yet. With a sigh, she shut the fridge door, resigned to the idea of a trip to the grocery store.

As she went to retrieve her purse, she paused again by the closed door, then before she knew what she was doing, she had knocked. The Bucky that opened the door was a little wilder-looking than the one she had met the night before. He looked disheveled – face weary, blue eyes dull – almost put out by the interruption. She opened her mouth to speak but hesitated, desperately trying to ignore the silver arm almost completely exposed from under his black t-shirt.

"Need anything from the grocery store?" she managed to ask. He stared at her for a moment, and as he considered his answer the grumpy look seemed to withdraw.

"No," he replied after a bit, his voice just as deep and hoarse as the previous night.

"Alright, well, just thought I'd ask. There's not much in the fridge. Thought I'd head out and grab a few things."

He stood in the doorway for a moment, hands braced on either side of the frame as he went into thought again. He looked back into his room, then disappeared for a moment, returning with a baseball cap on his head and a jacket slung over his arm. She had been doing well to avert her eyes from the shining, silver appendage, but the way he held his jacket now drew attention to it.

"I'll come with you. I could use the fresh air." He caught the direction of her gaze and glanced down at his arm before looking away, as if it bothered him that she had noticed. She almost apologized. He was quick to pull on his jacket after that, going so far as to slip on a pair of leather gloves for complete coverage. It was only then that Nellie realized just how much the telltale attachment bothered him. She wondered if he had replaced it since his time working for Hydra, or if it was the same arm that had aided in the murder of so many. Pushing the thought from her mind, she stepped out through the door as he held it open for her, and together they headed for the elevator.

* * *

Grocery shopping with the Winter Soldier proved to be a strangely ordinary affair. Though he kept shooting anxious glances in different directions, for the most part he seemed happy to be out of the apartment. There had been a brief moment as they walked down the street together where she wondered if he was even supposed to be out there. It wasn't like he was Steve's prisoner, but maybe there was a reason Bucky shut himself up inside his room all day. She noticed he seemed to relax as he breathed in the fresh air and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his skin. He needed this, she realized, and suddenly she was glad she had asked.

Now, as they stood in the cereal aisle, he seemed completely baffled by the amount of options that had come onto the market since his time. He picked up a box of Frosted Flakes and stared down at the smiling face of Tony the Tiger. Nellie watched him curiously. He looked over at her, feeling her gaze.

"Didn't have all this junk in my time," he said, looking up at the shelves and then down the aisle.

"Guess you had to leave room for all those trans fats and cigarettes."

He chuckled at that and gave a considering nod.

"But you're right," she went on, motioning to the box in his hand, "Not the most nutritional option. I don't think Cap would approve."

Bucky gave a light snort and placed the box back on the shelf. He scanned the other boxes again for a moment, then picked up another. "Now these I think I do remember." He showed her the box of Cheerios and she nodded, giving the 'ok' gesture with her fingers. With a smile, he tossed the box into their cart.

"What do you usually get?" he asked.

"For breakfast?"

He nodded.

"I usually have a coffee with Tony."

An odd expression came over Bucky and the next nod was very stiff. She didn't ask – with what she knew, she didn't have to. She made a mental note not to bring up Tony again in front of him, but he didn't seem to share her concern.

"Been working for him long?" he asked, the casual tone in his voice sounding awfully forced as he avoided eye contact. She snatched up some ground coffee as the passed by the shelf and tossed it down next to the Cheerios.

"A little over a year now," she replied.

"So he must have hired you right after…" He risked a glance in her direction and she nodded so he didn't have to go further. The memories of that period of time obviously still made him uncomfortable.

"I was thinking I could cook tonight. Any requests?" she asked, hoping to distract him. By the sudden change in his expression it seemed to work.

"I thought you said you couldn't cook."

"I asked what made you think I could."

He smiled. "So you can?"

"I guess you can be the judge of that tonight. How about…" she scanned the surrounding area and spotted the meat section, struck with sudden inspiration, "Steak? And vegetables?"

"That's how you're going to prove your cooking skills to me?" he said, and she realized he was teasing. It was a nice contrast from the dark, brooding Bucky she had caught a glimpse of only moments earlier.

"Well, I mean I could still burn the steak." He smirked but still didn't seem convinced.

When he failed to comment, she looked up. The smile had fallen from Bucky's face. He was staring at something over her shoulder, looking agitated. She turned with a frown to see what he was looking at and spotted a man standing at the end of the aisle. Though he was trying to appear distracted by the selection of pasta sauces, every so often he would shoot clear glances in their direction. The moment he noticed they were onto him, he scuttled off.

The brief moment of calm was gone. Bucky's gaze moved back to the floor as he fell silent, tensing his metal arm beneath all the layers as if it was on full display to everyone; announcing to the world who he was. Nellie scrambled for something to say; something to distract him or make him feel a little better. Her mind went back to food.

"You know what? I make a mean mac and cheese," she told him.

He nodded, no longer seeming to care.

* * *

They managed to make it through to the checkout without further incident, Bucky insisting on grabbing some plums as they passed the produce section. He explained to her, quietly, how he'd had a plum tree in the front yard of his house when he was growing up, how he and Steve had once eaten so many they'd both gone to bed with stomach aches. The whole time he told the story he'd had a small, thoughtful smile on his face, and it hadn't really seemed like he was talking to her at all; merely reminiscing out loud. Revisiting the old memories seemed to cheer him up, and the content look on his face soon had Nellie smiling too. She made a note to add the fruit to her future shopping list for him when they ran out.

As they stood in line, though, she noticed the way his eyes started to shift around again, how he kept his head ducked down as if trying to hide his face now that they were in a more enclosed space surrounded by people. He and Steve had both had their names cleared, as well as those who had chosen to side with them during the conflict, but it seemed that the paranoia of being discovered had never left Bucky; nor had that need to constantly be looking over his shoulder. It must have been exhausting. Her heart went out to him for that.

* * *

By the time Steve arrived back after a long day of training, planning, and a tedious meeting that had been led by Tony, the whole apartment smelled deliciously of baked goods. He inhaled deeply as he stepped through the door, eyes closed as a chocolatey scent invoked deep, hazy memories from his childhood. He was surprised to see Bucky seated at the kitchen counter enjoying a bowl of something that smelled as equally appetizing as whatever was currently cooking. He glanced over at Nellie as she bent down to peer into the oven. He hung up his coat and keys just as she glanced over.

"This all you?" he asked her as he moved to join them.

"Two days with a couple of super-soldiers from the forties and they've already got me cooking for them," she replied as she set down the fresh tray of brownies on top of the oven.

"My room could use a clean, too, when you're feeling up to it," he heard Bucky joke. Steve's eyes widened as he looked to Nellie, expecting her to be offended, but she surprised him with a laugh. Steve caught the genuine look of contentment on his friend's face but said nothing. It was so rare to see him smile these days; he was honestly just glad to see him out of his room.

"Where did all this come from?" he asked, looking around at the dishes of food as he took a seat next to his old friend. Bucky reached across the bench to grab a bowl and slid it across to him before doing the same with the tray of mac and cheese.

"Try this," he said, his tone already implying his positive review. Judging from the empty portion of the tray and the absence of a second, used bowl, Steve was pretty sure Bucky was already on his second or third helping.

"We went to get groceries," Nellie answered.

"Both of you?"

"I could use the day out," Bucky muttered to him, his tone noticeably different from before. He glanced at his friend, waiting for the worried look, but Steve managed to force it back, clapping him on the shoulder with a smile before he began dishing up his own meal.

"How'd the meeting go?" Nellie asked, as she waited with an empty bowl of her own. Steve looked up at her but seemed hesitant to reply, giving a heavy sigh instead. He settled with 'the usual', which she knew meant Tony getting steadily more snarky as they bickered, Nat doing her best to work out an actual mission plan throughout said bickering, Sam backing Steve on whatever came up, and Wanda and Vision taking the backseat as they watched the rest unfold. Nellie had witnessed the middle of one of these meetings before, after Tony had asked her to bring in a couple of folders of research she had compiled for them. At the time, she hadn't realized the exact relevance of the work he had tasked her with, but it gave her great pride in knowing that it had aided them in one of their missions. She hadn't truly appreciated the scope of her work until that day.

"I saw you out with Sam this morning," she went on, smirking.

He shook his head but couldn't hold back a chuckle. Bucky glanced between them. Sam was one of the few other people that ever visited; one of the few people that seemed to trust the Captain's judgement of him. He didn't mind the guy. Most of the time.

"Training," Steve said simply, and Bucky went back to his food.

"Is that what that was?" Nellie smiled, glancing at Bucky as she accepted the serving spoon from Steve. She could sense how useless Bucky felt being hidden away like this. She didn't know the true extent of the brainwashing or how dangerous that still made him, even now, but the way she saw it he would have made a strong addition to the Avengers team. Two super-soldiers? Nobody would stand a chance. If only Tony could let go of whatever grudge he seemed to have against the guy.

"We've got a mission coming up," Steve went on, "I'll be away for a couple of days." He looked between his two housemates and caught the glance Nellie threw at Bucky, who had suddenly stopped eating. She looked unsure.

"Who else is going?" she asked.

"Nat, Sam, Vision and myself."

She seemed relieved that Tony would be remaining behind. She had gotten so used to their routine together at the compound, that the last time he had gone away for a mission she had found herself still going for the morning walk just out of habit. It helped her think.

"You brought all that back with you?" Steve asked her, nodding to the stack of books and papers she had left on the dining table.

"Well, since I can't work all night at the compound anymore, I guess I don't have much of a choice," she replied, with a pointed look. He shook his head.

"I thought I was doing you a favor. You looked like you were overworking yourself. I guess not."

"Friends don't rat out friends," she replied in mock-contempt, and he chuckled.

"This is great," he said, spooning up another mouthful of cheesy pasta, "You didn't have to do all this. But I appreciate it. Nothing like coming back to a home-cooked meal."

"Just don't expect it every night. At least not until we're married." A touch of color rose in the captain's cheeks at the joke even as he smiled and threw her a look for the comment. Nellie grinned. "Just kidding. Or am I? Alright, I'll be right back. Make sure you leave me some. Oh, and leave room for dessert!" she called back to them as she headed for the bathroom.

She leaned back against the counter moments later, her own bowl of steaming pasta clutched in her hands, smiling as she watched the two boys enjoy their meals. She felt weirdly like the mother of two very overgrown, handsome kids. The kitchen was filled with a content kind of silence as the two men proceeded to polish off both trays of food. She had to envy that increased metabolic rate, settling for one serve of each food herself. She didn't train like Steve and the others did, instead taking the stairs where she could in the compound, or taking a walk around the grounds during lunch. She especially admired Nat for her dedication. No enhancements and she was still a match for anyone on the team. Plus, she doubted she'd ever have the ability to pull off a catsuit the way that woman did.

Leaving the boys to clean up (since they had politely insisted on it – maybe she should be considering that marriage thing a little more seriously after all), Nellie moved off towards the bathroom for a quick shower to refresh herself before undertaking what she knew was going to be a long night of research. She smiled as she went, beginning to feel better about the move. She was settling in nicely and was pretty sure she was making a good impression on her new housemates. Maybe she would finally have a place to call home. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

She was, of course, quite wrong.


	4. Chapter 4: Mistakes

**MISTAKES**

Tony wasn't waiting for her in the usual spot the following morning. She stood by entrance of the corridor for a good fifteen minutes before she finally spotted him coming towards her from the opposite end of the hall. She frowned.

He carried the usual tray with their morning coffees, a newspaper tucked under his arm, his expression far from the smile of greeting that she had grown accustomed to. Something had happened. It was unlike him to be late, and stranger still to not at least give her some notice that that would be the case. She hadn't felt this anxious to see him since her first week working for him. As he finally reached her side, he barely paused to say, "Let's go," holding out her coffee without looking at her. Still frowning, she took it and followed after him.

He led her out onto one of the balconies, staring out across the grounds as he sipped his drink, as if mentally preparing what he wanted to say.

"Coffee might be a little cold," he told her, absently.

She took a sip to test this out and found it lukewarm. The temperature wouldn't have been a problem – she often got so involved in her work that a fresh cup of coffee would sit forgotten on her desk until she finally had to drink it cold – but the sweet taste wasn't mixing well with the nervous flutter in her stomach. Why did she feel like she had done something wrong?

"Anything you want to tell me?" he finally asked, turning back to her.

She stared back, utterly confused, and could only shake her head, hoping it might prompt him to elaborate. He held the newspaper out to her and she took it, still frowning at him. She looked down at the front page and immediately realized what the problem was. Beneath the main article was a smaller one headed with ' **VIENNA BOMBING SUSPECT SPOTTED AT LOCAL SUPERMARKET'** , beside it a slightly-blurred photo that had been captured from the CCTV footage over a year ago of a man who authorities had mistakenly identified as Bucky.

"You've got to be kidding me," Nellie muttered, as she hurriedly scanned over the rest of the article. This was sensationalism at its best. "He was cleared."

Tony snatched the paper back from her and tapped the second paragraph of the story, reading it aloud: " _Accompanied by Helena Marshall, known employee of Mr. Tony Stark_. You took the Winter Soldier grocery shopping?"

She could tell this was going to be bad. She wondered if Steve knew that he knew yet – though considering the mood Tony was in, she had a pretty good idea, now, what had kept him from their morning walk. Tony had never mentioned anything to her about Bucky – she had never heard him talk about the guy at all, even to others. But since Steve had asked her not tell him about Bucky's whereabouts she got the idea that there was something unresolved there – she just didn't know how serious that something was.

"So he's been hiding his buddy in plain sight, huh? I should have known."

"He seems alright, Tony," she said awkwardly. She knew straight away that she'd said the wrong thing. He looked at her in a way she had never seen before; a kind of irritated disbelief. Every so often she noticed the muscle in his jaw tense up, like he was chewing on something. She got the feeling that it was what he actually wanted to say.

"I'm sorry," she went on, "I know how this could make the company look if people get the wrong impression." She knew how hard he had worked to separate the company from the negative press it had received after Stark-produced weapons had ended up in the wrong hands; she could only imagine the field day the papers would have if they thought Tony was now involved with a once-accused terrorist. But the reputation of Stark Industries didn't seem to be his main concern.

"Forget about the company." He paused, retracting some of the anger that had been simmering beneath his words; reminding himself that none of this was her fault. Regathering his thoughts he went on, "I'm going to organize for your stuff to be brought back here. At least for the meantime. Heck, you can come back to New York. I've been meaning to cut back on the time I spend over this way, anyway."

Especially now that he knew he couldn't trust a word Rogers told him. In a matter of minutes, all that trust they had worked so hard to rebuild over the past months had suddenly crumbled. The moment he had seen the photo of Barnes's likeness the memories he had tried to suppress for so long had come flooding back – the horrible images on the CCTV footage…the car wreck…the bodies. He squeezed his eyes closed as if that might make them go away again.

Nellie gaped at him as his words sank in. Two days. It had lasted two days. Just the thought of having to move again, even if the compound was more convenient, and who knew how long that arrangement would last? "Tony, I don't want to move again. I'm fine where I am. Really. It's not a big deal."

He looked at her again and she could see how strongly he felt otherwise. She'd heard about what had gone down between the team members during the conflict months back – had briefly been there to witness the fallout and recovery – but still this reaction seemed a little strong. Hadn't Bucky been proven to be working under Russian influence? Hadn't he saved the Captain's life once before? From what she had been told, he'd had multiple opportunities to kill more than one member in different instances, and yet he hadn't.

"You have no idea what he did," Tony said, and there was an odd strain to his voice.

"I heard."

He shook his head. "Not all of it."

She thought of the way Steve always seemed so vigilant around his friend, about her initial thoughts on Bucky's stability. Then she thought of the time they had spent together the night before – the happy little smile on his face as he had recounted the story from his childhood; the calm contentment of simply sitting in a kitchen with the two soldiers and sharing good food. As brief as her time had been there, she felt more settled than she had in a while. Since she had first begun her job in New York, Tony had shifted her around from place to place to suit his needs, and she had gone with it, to what she now realized was her own detriment. She needed somewhere to settle down, at least for a while. She needed somewhere to call home; somewhere she could find peace at the end of a long day.

"I'd like to stay," she told him, finally, her voice soft as if to not provoke him.

He stared at her for a moment as if debating something in his head. He seemed disappointed in her; like she had betrayed him somehow – like she had chosen a side. It all seemed like such an overreaction. She thought all of this had been resolved. Then he gave a nod – the kind of nod she had seen him give people before. It was the nod he gave when he didn't see the point of arguing further; a final kind of nod that said he still didn't agree. Before he left, he told her one last thing:

"Just don't give me a reason to say I told you so."

She watched him disappear back into the compound, a heavy weight settling on her. In that instant she felt their relationship shift ever so slightly, and for a moment she was worried that it might never be the same again. She only hoped that her decision would be worth it. Because she didn't feel that peace anymore.

* * *

As distracted as she was for the rest of the day, she managed to keep herself busy with a mound of reading and had a stack of notes written by lunchtime. It wasn't until reading over them that she realized how little sense they made. There was no way she could turn them in. A whole morning's worth of work wasted. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her desk as she rubbed at her temples, then leaned back to stretch. Her eyebrows shot up, mouth open mid-yawn as she found Steve standing in the doorway. He was holding two coffees and looked slightly uncomfortable.

"You look like you could use this," he said to her, gesturing with one of the cups.

"Caffeine for a headache?"

He looked hesitant and she suddenly felt bad for teasing. Sometimes she still couldn't get over how genuine the guy was. She got up from her desk, leg muscles crying out in joy at being stretched after such a lengthy session of being seated. Steve passed her a cup.

"I wasn't sure what you drank, so…"

"Thanks. I appreciate it," she smiled before taking a sip. Definitely not this, she thought, as the bland taste of soy-dulled coffee hit her taste buds. Steve watched as if waiting for a verdict.

"It's fine," she lied. "Thanks."

He smiled again, then some sudden thought seemed to dissolve the brief gesture. "Do you feel like taking a walk?"

She nodded and he led the way.

* * *

The air was warm outside as they walked out past the training grounds. Steve stopped occasionally to offer a friendly greeting to the crew members on the ground as they busied themselves with crates that had just arrived on one of the supply jets. Nellie had never met any of these people – it had never occurred to her that she should have any reason to – but Steve seemed to know most of them by name. She watched his interactions with a curious smile. He was a sweet guy, Steve; sometimes it was easy to forget how lethal he could be under the right circumstances. He caught her smile as he turned back to her, and still managed to look humble, even after all the attention, like he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head, redirecting her gaze across the lawn. "No, you just never cease to surprise me, sometimes."

"Is that a good thing?" he chuckled lightly.

"Yeah. It's a nice change, I guess."

As they continued on beyond the parameter of potential eavesdropping, he finally brought up what she had already guessed was on his mind.

"Has Tony spoken to you yet?"

She sipped her coffee, her gaze focused on the path ahead. "Yeah. We had a chat this morning."

He nodded, expression grim enough to match her own. "Yeah, same here." He glanced back over at her and went on, "I saw the article. I still can't believe they're allowed to print something like that in the paper. It's…what do they call it?"

"Defamation of character?" she suggested, though she knew that wasn't entirely true. Sure, Bucky's name had been cleared and he hadn't been in his right mind during all the attacks – not to mention that he hadn't been the one to carry out the bombing in Vienna – but that didn't change the fact that he had been used to commit terrible atrocities. That was something that would hang over the guy for the rest of his life. She recalled the tired, drawn look he always seemed to have on his face and wondered how anyone could think that he had gotten off without consequence.

"Yeah, that's right. So, what did Tony have to say?" Steve asked.

"I got the impression that he thinks I've gone over to the dark side or something." She glanced over at him. "You get that reference, right?"

"Yeah. Star Wars?"

She nodded, the corner of her mouth turning up as she took another sip of her coffee, before she went on, "He basically said he was going to pull me out of the apartment. Not literally," she added, catching the odd look that crossed the captain's face – as if he wouldn't put anything past Tony Stark right now. "Just, bring me back to New York, he meant."

"I could understand if that's what you want." His gaze fell away from her and she could have sworn he looked almost disappointed.

"It's not. I told him I wanted to stay." She watched for a reaction and a small smile appeared on the captain's face.

"I'm glad to hear it. Plus I wouldn't say no to some more of those brownies," he said, making her smile.

"Be careful with those or you won't be able to fit into that spandex."

He laughed. He was already dressed for the mission, his outfit these days a toned down navy blue instead of the bright red, white and blue of the past. As iconic as that old outfit was, she found she preferred this look. There was something more mature about it, like he had graduated past that old character and settled into something more distinguished. They continued on in a comfortable silence before he finally spoke again.

"Well, Bucky seems to like you."

She smiled at that. It was hard to see the ex-assassin as everyone besides Steve seemed to. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like carrying around the stuff that he did every day. She was surprised that, after everything he had been through, he still managed to retain a sense of humor about things. She thought of his comment about Steve's spaghetti and smiled to herself, and then suddenly recalled the look on Steve's face the night before.

"I kind of got the feeling you weren't happy about him coming out with me yesterday."

Steve's expression was suddenly hard to read. "No, that was, well, he doesn't usually want to go out much, not after everything that's happened. I was just surprised is all. I'm glad you two are getting along. He doesn't trust a lot of people these days. I'm actually more surprised considering your links to Tony."

"He mentioned something, Tony. About me not knowing the whole story. Any idea what he meant by that?"

Steve's expression grew grim once more.

"I think that's for Tony to tell you. I'd rather not get into it."

"Okay," she replied, more suspicious than ever. There was something in the captain's tone that she had never heard before; a kind of stiffness that told her not to push the subject any further. It felt like the tiniest of glimpses at a darker side of the man, and she was almost tempted to push, if only to see what would happen.

"What I really wanted to discuss with you is this mission."

"Are you sure I have the clearance for that kind of information?" she joked bitterly.

He almost smiled but there was a touch of concern to his expression now. "Not quite what I meant. I just want to know if you're comfortable being left alone with Bucky for a few days?"

She frowned. "Is there a reason I shouldn't be?"

"I'm going to give you my number. You should probably have it now, anyway, all things considered. But just in case you need anything."

"About time," she joked again, but she couldn't help but notice the way he avoided the question. "Steve, what are you worried is going to happen? You've gone away before while he was staying with you, right?"

"Yeah, I have." He paused, considering how much he wanted to tell her; what he could say that wouldn't frighten her too much. "He seems to cope better when I'm around. Reminds him of his old self, I guess. He'll probably keep to himself. Don't be surprised if you don't see him much the whole time I'm gone. But like I said, I think he's starting to trust you. I think you should be okay."

She was concerned that he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than reassure her.

"So, any advice for what I should do on the off chance I'm not?"

He looked over at her, his soft, blue eyes growing serious under his furrowed brow. "Just be patient with him. He needs that these days."

* * *

That afternoon, she returned to her desk feeling more invigorated and clear-headed after their walk, and feeling more confident in her decision to persevere with the move. She had almost entirely forgotten the disappointed look on Tony's face that morning – that was until she spotted another gift from him sitting on the table. There was no note this time; just a plain manila folder marked with the old S.H.I.E.L.D. crest. She hesitated to open it, already knowing what she would find inside.

 **JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES**

The picture attached to the first report looked so unlike the man she had cooked dinner with the night before. Though the photo was slightly blurred, as if it had been taken while in motion, the empty, driven look in his eyes was unmistakable. This had been at the height of his mind control; when he was so far from himself that he had barely registered trying to kill his childhood friend. Finding it difficult to look at it any longer, she slipped the file to the back to view the next one. She had just begun to read the report – which included a long list of all his known and suspected victims – when she changed her mind and flipped the folder closed, tossing it back down onto the desk. What was the point in reading all this? What was Tony trying to prove? That she was in danger? That Bucky _was_ the danger? She wasn't sure she wanted the bias, though she had always been partial to knowing the facts. But something was stopping her. Placing the folder up on top of her tray of paperwork, she told herself she would look it over later, if only to ease Tony's obvious concerns. Picking up a book she had found, labelled _'Myths and Legends of the Universe'_ ,she decided to give herself a break from all the politics and settled in for something a little more interesting.

* * *

The apartment was quiet again when she arrived home that night. Without Steve's presence it always seemed to lose some of its warmth. Dumping tonight's load of research and paperwork on the dining table, she walked over to the record player and perused the collection of records on the shelf below it, smiling as she remembered the AC/DC vinyl in her room. She doubted 'You Shook Me All Night Long' would do much to provide a calming environment, so settled instead for The Best of Glenn Miller, figuring she would at least better understand the reference on Tony's note.

As 'In the Mood' began to fill the space with a soft, energetic beat, Nellie set to work making herself a coffee. She had found some interesting theories in the _Myths and Legends_ book, and had been looking forward to researching them further (even if it didn't technically count as work-related – she figured she deserved a bit of downtime). As the machine brewed her drink for her, she wandered towards the hallway, ears pricked for sounds coming from the second bedroom. There was nothing this time. Remembering the captain's request for patience, she let it be.

As the night wore on, she thought she heard stirring in the hallway, then heard the definite sound of the shower. Part of her hoped Bucky might join her again, or at least check in and see what she was doing up so late, but when the water shut off and she heard a couple of doors open and close, she realized it wasn't going to happen. Biting back her disappointment, she continued to read.

The following morning she had still seen no sign of the elusive ex-assassin. She left a note on the bench with her contact number and a short message telling him to call her and let her know what he felt like for dinner; that she'd pick something up on the way back. She eyed the wireless phone in the kitchen, assuming Bucky knew how to use it, and moved to collect her work. After the struggle she'd had with carrying and sorting through the last lot of notes the previous morning, she made the sound decision to leave the unnecessary ones behind for another day. Debating whether or not to take the _Myths and Legends_ book for a bit of light reading on her lunch break, she decided against it, leaving it instead to act as a paperweight for the files below. Not realizing that, amongst the sea of manila folders and envelopes, lay the folder marked **JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES.**


	5. Chapter 5: Consequences

**CONSEQUENCES (OR: THE FIRST INCIDENT)**

Tony wasn't in their usual spot again the following morning, replaced this time by a man she had never met wearing a boring, black suit. He watched her through a pair of dark sunglasses as she approached; a familiar-looking cup of coffee clutched in his hand.

"Mr. Stark sends his apologies," he told her, handing her the coffee before turning on his heels and marching off, (presumably to something more important than a coffee delivery). Nellie stared after him with weary disbelief. It was just like Tony to withdraw like this when things became uncomfortable. She had seen him do this before with Pepper, and multiple times with Steve and Nat while things were still settling down between them – taking off on spontaneous trips to wherever his personal problems weren't. To his credit, he always ended up facing any conflict in the end; she knew he needed to distance himself to work at the problem from different angles, just as he would any formula in his lab. She just never thought she would be one of those problems that needed working out. She doubted a cup of coffee would make her feel any better. She took a sip. Okay, so it was pretty good coffee. And he had cared enough about her routine to send it. She took some comfort in that.

As she made her way to her office, she took out her phone to tap out a quick message. She knew better than to call (neither she, nor Tony, were big on phone calls – he found them tedious, and she had grown up in the era of texting). He constantly screened any calls that came through, and she was pretty sure he hadn't changed his office answering machine message in years: ( _'You've reached Tony. Don't bother leaving a message. If I'm too busy to answer, I'm too busy to call.'_ )

 **Thanks for the coffee. Hope everything's okay.**

She didn't like the way it sounded; sort of anxious, sort of needy. But she needed to touch base. To let him know she wasn't holding any of this against him. Sure, it was frustrating, but she also knew she didn't have enough of the facts to heap the blame on him. Considering the way he had reacted the previous morning, she wasn't sure she wanted to know at all – but of course it was in her nature to look at things from all sides, too. But what if it changed the way she saw Steve? Or Bucky, whom she was still only in the early stages of getting to know? What if it actually did make her want to move again? She hadn't had nearly enough coffee to deal with all these thoughts so early in the morning.

As she reached her desk, she felt a new message buzz through.

 **TONY: Yeah. Sorry, kid. Had some things to sort out at the tower.**

No attempt to hide behind humor. No further explanation of his continued absence. She knew that was all she was going to be able to get out of him for the time being.

She found herself distracted for the rest of the day, her muddled thoughts showing through in her notes. By 3pm she gave it up for a loss.

It wasn't until she was packing up to head home for the weekend, thinking about what she was going to do for dinner, that she finally remembered the message she had left for Bucky. It was also then that she realized she didn't have number to call for the apartment. She doubted Bucky had a cell – though, now that he had people to call, she realized that might have been an oversight. Making a note to ask him when she got back, she grabbed a pile of books she wanted to leave at the apartment and headed for the elevator. After quick consideration on the way down to the ground level, she settled on Chinese. It was easy and she hadn't met too many people that wouldn't eat it. It seemed the safest bet (and maybe slightly healthier than pizza).

When she finally stepped into the elevator of her apartment building, bag of takeout hanging on one arm, handbag on the other, stack of books balanced in the middle, she felt relieved that she would finally have a chance to relax and regroup after a long week of adapting to the whims of Tony Stark – completely unaware of what awaited her in the apartment.

* * *

The door had been locked, so it wasn't immediately obvious that anything was wrong. But as she finally managed to get the door open, she found herself wishing she would reconsider the amount of things she tried to carry at one time. Her first instinct was to reach for her phone, but she couldn't extend her arm far enough without risking everything toppling to the floor. As silently and calmly as she could, she slipped in towards the dining table to set everything down, taking in the damage as she went. Items were scattered across the floor, the coffee table in the living room knocked over, and from a distance there was what looked like a hole punched in the living room wall – blood visible around it. The kitchen was worse – the bowls and glasses that had been drying on the sink were now smashed across the tiles; the floor a minefield of shiny white shards. The coffee maker had been upended, too; water leaking down the side of the cabinets to mix with the mess below.

With her heart hammering in her chest, Nellie found herself wishing she had taken Tony up on his offer back when she had first started, of having a weapon of her own to carry at all times. She hadn't liked the idea of having a gun in her purse, regardless of the dangerous sort of work her colleagues were engaged in – never seeing herself worthy of being any sort of target to their enemies – but in this moment she felt really stupid for turning it down. It seemed reckless now.

As she reached the table and slowly lowered down her books, she spotted the items she had left there that morning now strewn across that surface. Photos of Bucky were scattered amongst the pages and she was hit with a sudden dread. Out of impulse, as if hiding away the evidence might suddenly make things better, she gathered up the pictures and reports and shoved them back into their folder.

"Bucky?" she tried, as she slid the folder back under her latest pile of work, looking out towards the darkened hallway. Her voice came out small and choked, as if her body was against her making any noise in the uncertain environment. Fighting to stay calm, she stepped into the kitchen and found it empty. She stared down at the smashed ceramics and listened out for any sudden movement around her, uncomfortably aware of how helpless she would be in the event on any sort of attack. She had no training in hand-to-hand combat, and barely remembered anything from the self-defense class she had taken years back when she had first moved to New York. But given who she might have been up against, she doubted any of that would have mattered anyway.

As silently as she could, avoiding the potential crunch of the broken shards underfoot, she crept down towards the hallway. Bucky's door was wide open, and she finally got a glimpse of the interior. It was plain; the double bed dressed in a grey bedspread and white sheets, neatly made. A desk sat in the corner by the window, the last few rays of the setting sun glowing golden across the timber. Against the wall opposite his bed was a simple chest of drawers, stacked with a couple of old-looking novels. The whole room had a mellow haze to it from the way it caught the end-of-day light; there was warmth to the Winter Soldier's lodgings. Compared to Steve's more modernized bedroom that she had snuck quick glances of her first day there, the short amount of time that Bucky had had to acclimatize to the new century really showed. In the time he'd had to reclaim his own mind, he had barely had the chance to accumulate many possessions he could call his own.

Nellie backtracked to Steve's room next, but found it as neat and orderly as ever, with no sign of the missing veteran. On a whim, she checked her room last, but it was just as she had left it, too – the bed hastily made; yesterday's outfit folded on the foot of the mattress in some bare-minimum attempt to maintain an air of cleanliness.

Now at a loss, she crept back to the front of the apartment and paused by the entryway to the living room; the one place, in her haste, she had unthinkingly forgone. She stared at the bloody hole in the wall to her right, her finger hovering over the light switch as she scanned the rest of the room in the darkness. It wasn't until she flicked on the light that she spotted the dark shape on the floor beside the corner armchair. He had been hidden in the shadows; unresponsive to her calls. Bucky sat with his back against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, hands twisted in his hair. As she drew closer she noticed he was shaking. He was covered in sweat.

"Bucky?"

Everything Tony had said to her came flooding back. She glanced around for anything he might use as a weapon but continued to approach him with building dread, wondering if she still had time to call for backup now that he had been alerted to her presence.

"Bucky?"

Still nothing. She thought the shivering seemed to stop, but she couldn't be sure. She took the last few steps to close the gap, then she was right in front of him. Still no response. Bending down, she reached out towards him.

"James?"

The moment she touched him he seemed to come to life. He flinched, making her jump, and immediately his hands came up in front of him in defense.

"Bucky, it's just me. It's Nellie."

Breathing hard, she realized now what a stupid idea it had been to approach him, let alone touch him; how much stronger he was than her – how much deadlier. Then she caught sight of his face beneath the curtain of sweat-soaked hair as he lowered his hands. His lip was trembling. She had never seen someone look so scared in her life.

"Bucky?" she tried again, her own eyes wide now as she took in his appearance. He looked up at her as if finally coming out of a trance. "Hey? You there? You know who I am, right?" she said softly.

His gaze fell, then he squeezed his eyes shut, looking pained, and he gave a stiff nod. Keeping in mind how defenseless she would be against him if he decided to attack, she fought back that fear and reached out towards him again. This time when she touched him he didn't flinch. He seemed to freeze, instead. She paused waiting for further reaction, but he remained still. Confident that he wasn't going to lash out now, she dropped down onto her knees and looked him over for any visible damage; feeling certain now that this was all self-inflicted. She winced as she spotted the bloody pulp he'd made of his flesh hand.

She sat there for a moment as she considered her next move, gently squeezing his arm if only to remind him that she was still there, hoping the reminder that he wasn't alone might be enough to calm him down. She had never dealt with something like this before. There had been some days where she would notice that Tony wasn't quite right; that he seemed more fidgety than usual, where his eyes would dart around as if he was expecting incoming danger at any moment. On those days they took their time with their morning walk and by the time they finished up he would usually seem a little more like his usual self.

 _Just be patient with him. He needs that these days._

"We should get that cleaned up," she suggested after a while, staring at his damaged hand. Her voice was soft, quietly encouraging. She made to stand up and suddenly his metal hand caught her by the wrist. For a moment, as the cold metal bit into her skin, she froze and was reminded once more of who he was, what he was capable of. But the way he looked up at her wasn't in anger or in warning. It was a plea for her to stay.

"I'll be right back," she reassured him, "I'm just going to get something to help your hand." His grip slackened, but some of that fear seemed to return to his eyes, like he was preparing himself to never see her again; that maybe he had scared her off, too.

She made a trip to the bathroom as quickly as she could, taking a washcloth from the cupboard under the sink (selecting the darkest color there – navy blue – in the hopes that she wouldn't completely ruin the fabric) and pulling out a small first aid kit. Looking at it, she wondered how many times Steve had come home from work needing it. The members of the Avengers never seemed to go a week without showing up with new cuts and bruises. The worst work-related injury she'd had so far was a lightly-twisted ankle when she'd taken one of the bottom stairs at a weird angle.

She held the washcloth under the bathroom tap, warm water running over her fingers as she stared absently at the basin. Was this the sort of thing Steve had been worried might happen when he went away? Was this a regular thing he had somehow thought wasn't worth mentioning? She felt so out of her depth. But who could she call? Steve was god knows where on some secret mission with Nat, Vision and Sam. She didn't want to get Wanda involved – she doubted she could do much besides fight back if it came to that, anyway; and Bucky didn't look like he had much fight left in him. And there was no way she was contacting Tony. _Don't give me a reason to say I told you so._ His words echoed in her mind and she shook her head. Realizing she might have already been away for too long, she quickly shut off the tap, squeezed out the excess water, and headed back with the first aid kit grasped in her other hand. Bucky seemed relieved to see her back.

"Told you I wasn't going anywhere," she smiled.

He looked so tired.

She knelt down again and held out her hand. "Can I…?"

He seemed to think about it for a moment, then finally obliged, shakily holding out his mangled hand. She took it carefully in her own and set about gently removing the blood and bits of plaster debris. He seemed to come back to himself through this process; his breathing slowed and though he continued to stare blankly ahead, she could tell he was beginning to relax. When she looked up from his hand again, she found him watching her.

"What did I do?" he asked. It was a relief to hear his voice. It was hoarse with emotion – she was certain there were tears mingled with the sweat on his face – but it was good to know that he was still in there somewhere. He noticed the overturned coffee table, then glanced down at his hand as she cleaned it. "Did I break everything?"

"The coffee machine seems okay," she replied; a hint of a joke that he seemed too dazed to pick up on.

"Did I hurt you?"

She paused to meet his gaze. His eyes were watery as if he couldn't bear the thought. She could feel the pain rolling off him, and not just from his injured hand.

"No."

"I could have," he said, but it didn't come across as threatening. The possibility seemed to frighten him.

"What happened?" she asked.

He frowned as he tried to remember. Then the answer seemed to come to him.

"Why'd you have that folder?"

Guilt washed over her as she was reminded of how careless she had been.

"I didn't realize it was there," she admitted, knowing her plan of keeping her workload evenly spread between here and the office wasn't going to work anymore. She couldn't risk leaving things around like that. If Tony ever found out it might even risk her clearance.

"Why'd you have it?" he asked again, as he looked up at her with marked suspicion.

Finished with wiping away the last of the dried blood, she folded over the cloth and set it aside, wondering if she should tell him the truth.

"Tony gave it to me," she finally admitted, as she unzipped the first aid kit and looked for something to clean the wounds. She pulled out some saline solution and a bandage. Sensing a change in his breathing at the mention of the name, she looked up and caught the distant look that came over him. She wondered if she should have just lied.

"Why? He knows I'm here now?"

She nodded. "It was in the paper. Some asshole must have recognized you when we were out the other day."

He was quiet for a while.

 _Be patient with him._

"Did you read it? The file?" he asked, staring down at the floor.

"Nope. This might sting."

But he barely reacted as the first drop of saline hit his knuckles. Her answer had surprised him.

"Why not?" He gazed at her, at the concentration on her face as she finished washing out his wounds. She was finding that the process was helping her too – distracting her from the anxiety she had been bombarded with since stepping foot in the apartment.

"I didn't see the point," she replied, tossing the empty applicator down beside the washcloth before she began to remove the fresh bandage from its packaging. "I live with you now. I figure that'll tell me all I need to know."

She finished dressing the wound in silence, tucking the end of the bandage under one of the folds to keep it secured. "There. I think it'll be alright." She looked at him, tilting her head as she tried to get a better look at his face beneath the lank hair. "I got us some Chinese," she said, gesturing back with a nod back towards the dining area, "Wasn't sure what you'd want to eat. You hungry?"

He shook his head.

"Not even a little?"

He shook his head again. He looked so miserable sitting there on the floor, knuckles bandaged and face full of guilt. She thought she caught him shivering again and wondered if it was because of the sweat; his shirt was practically clinging to him.

"I'll be right back," she told him. He looked up at her again with the same expression as before, but she offered a gentle smile. "I won't be far."

Over the next few minutes she made multiple trips back and forth, bringing new items with her each time. The first time she came back with a couple of blankets she had found, draping them around his shoulders. The shivering seemed to ease as he clutched the edges and pulled them closer around him. She disappeared once more, this time returning with some paper plates she had fished out of the pantry, and a handful of cutlery, as well as the bag of takeout she had left abandoned on the dining table. She placed all of it on the ground in front of him in case he changed his mind, setting the spoons and forks down on top of one of the plates. The moment the smell of the food reached him, he felt his stomach betray him.

By the time Nellie came back again, with a couple of drinks this time, she found him eyeing the little boxes of food with more interest. She smiled for a moment, glad to see he had changed his mind. He looked up at her, squinting against the brightness of the ceiling light, and she realized now why he had been sitting in the dark. She set the drinks down on the small table beside the armchair and switched on the small lamp that sat on top of it, heading over to switch off the overhead light. The dimmer lighting seemed to take some of the harshness out of the environment and she was certain that he looked more at ease. She paused in front of the record player on the way back, wondering if some familiar tunes might help relax him further – she knew it would help her. Perusing the collection of vinyl, she finally pulled out The Best of Billie Holiday. Her grandmother had been a big fan. She could recall many a warm Californian mornings spent in her kitchen as a child; the smell of chocolate-chip pancakes sharing the air with the smooth beats of _'_ Easy Living' _._ She carefully removing The Best of Glenn Miller and slipped it back into its case, setting the new record down under the needle in its place. The low, dulcet tones of the jazz singer soon filled the room.

Bucky watched her quietly, a ghost of self-loathing still haunting his features as he joked, "Romantic."

She looked around at the overturned table and hole in the wall with raised eyebrows before turning back to him with a pointed look. "Very." He managed a weak smile in return.

Soon they were quietly enjoying a now slightly cold dinner, the energy in the room now a lot calmer than when she had first walked in. Bucky still seemed distant as he chewed a mouthful of fried rice.

"Why didn't you use your other hand?" Nellie asked, gazing at his freshly-bandaged appendage. He looked up at her, swallowing.

"I think it helped. Brought me back a little," he said. His eyes were dull as he searched hers for any hint of judgement, but she merely nodded and popped another piece of honey chicken in her mouth. Her expression turned thoughtful.

"Does it happen a lot?" she asked when she had finished it.

"Not for a while," he said quietly. She couldn't help but feel, as the most recent addition to his environment, that maybe that change had triggered something (that or the files detailing his crimes that she had so carelessly left lying around). She silently shook her head at herself as she continued to eat, then realized Bucky was watching her.

"What?" he asked, and she could hear a touch of self-deprecation in his voice, as if he was already expecting the answer to have something to do with him.

"I kind of feel like this is my fault," she admitted.

"Why, do you work for Hydra?" he asked dryly, and though the joke was clear in his voice, the humor didn't reach his expression. He continued eating with the same morose look. She risked a chuckle and thought his expression softened some.

"I should have been more careful with my files," she told him. "You didn't need to relive all that."

"I shouldn't have gone through them," he countered, taking some of that blame back onto himself.

She gave a considering nod. He had a point there. "Why did you?"

"I wanted to see what you do," he said simply.

"You could have just asked."

"I'll remember that for next time."

They met each other's gaze and she smiled, but he didn't manage to return the gesture, his face still riddled with guilt.

They finished off their meals in silence, Bucky retreating back into his thoughts as Nellie set about clearing up. She disappeared into the kitchen and after a moment he managed to muster the energy to get up and follow after her, blankets still draped around his shoulders like a shabby cloak. He found her standing in the middle of the room surveying the damage he had caused.

"Oh my god," he muttered to himself with soft disgust, feeling a sickness settle in his stomach that had nothing to do with the food, as he looked around at his friend's broken possessions.

She looked over at him. "Meh, easy fix," she told him, in her best attempt to downplay his demolition. She moved to place the leftovers in the refrigerator, then stepped gingerly over to the bin to toss out the empty containers. "I can tidy this up. Why don't you go take a shower? Or a bath. A bath always relaxes me when I'm stressed." Because that's what this is, right, she thought, stress? The post-traumatic kind? She wasn't sure that he had even heard her. He continued to stare at his path of destruction, then turned to glance back at the hole he had left in the wall. He tensed his bandaged hand, the pain helping to ground him.

"I should help," he said, his voice still low, as if ashamed.

"No," she began, but he cut her off.

"You shouldn't have to clean up after me. People have done that enough."

"Bucky," she said, voice firmer this time, "Really, it's fine. Go get yourself cleaned up, alright?"

He looked up at her and gave a hesitant nod before turning reluctantly into the hallway, heading for what she hoped was the bathroom. She relaxed as she heard the tap turn on in the shower, then she set about tidying up, wanting it to be cleared away before he got back.

* * *

Once all the broken ceramic was swept up and put in the trash, she set the coffee machine upright and looked it over for any visible damage. It seemed to still be in working order, so, feeling the emotionally draining day starting to get to her, decided to test that. While the coffee brewed (with any luck), she stepped into the living room to straighten things up in there. Thankfully the coffee table hadn't been damaged. She flipped it back onto its legs and collected the books and magazines that had been spilled onto the ground, which included a vintage copy of _Life_ featuring Katherine Hepburn on the cover. Smiling at the random piece of memorabilia, she set it down on top of the pile and looked around for anything else that seemed out of place. The kitchen seemed to have taken the brunt of the attack. Nothing else caught her attention…other than the bloody hole in the wall – and she had no idea how she was going to fix that. Leaving that for later, she went to collect her coffee and take a breather as she figured out what to do next.

It was around half an hour later, (after she had settled herself down in the armchair with a book) that she finally heard the bathroom door open. The water had shut off a while before that, but she hadn't wanted to check in on him prematurely, giving him his space to work through whatever he was battling with in his head. Looking up from her copy of _Myths and Legends of the Universe_ , a cup of lukewarm coffee gripped almost forgotten in the other hand, she found Bucky standing in the entranceway looking a little lost. Now dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a dark grey, long-sleeved shirt, there was a healthier pallor to his skin and he seemed less dazed. Part of her had been wondering how he might manage to wash himself with a bandaged hand, unsure if he could get his prosthetic wet, but he appeared to have managed; the bandage looked dry, at least.

"You alright over there?" she asked him. He looked up as if she had interrupted his thoughts.

"Yeah. Are you gonna be up for a while?" he asked.

"Probably. Why, is the music bothering you?"

He glanced over at the record player as if only just realizing it was still playing. "No. No, I like Billie."

She smiled as she watched him. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself, but she got the feeling that he didn't want to be alone.

"Wanna hang out for a bit?" she asked. He seemed to consider this.

"Are you working?"

"Kind of. Well," – she closed the book, looking over the cover as if still deciding what this research counted as – "Not exactly."

"Am I going to distract you?"

She looked over, glancing from his sad, handsome features to the thick, muscular body straining in the shirt below them, then turned back to her book with a smirk that felt inappropriate, given the circumstances. "Not unless you decide to go through my stuff again."

"I think I learned my lesson the first time."

He sat down on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, still giving the appearance of someone who didn't know what to do with themselves. It was as if he either felt uncomfortable in her presence after what she had witnessed tonight, or he felt as if he was bothering her. He ran the fingers of his prosthetic hand back through his damp hair and finally relaxed back into the cushions.

"Want the TV on?" Nellie asked, without glancing up from her book. He looked over.

"No, it's okay."

"Honestly, if I can read through one of Tony and Steve's arguments, I think I can read with the TV on."

"I need the quiet," he finally admitted.

Almost restless, he repositioned himself once more to be lying down. One arm crooked behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling. Eventually Nellie lost herself in the book, so fascinated by the concepts it raised that she barely noticed that she had begun singing along softly under her breath. By the time the song finished, she looked up and found Bucky sound asleep. She smiled to herself and flipped to the next chapter – ' _The Creation of the Six'_.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm going to take a mini break from this story - a week tops - because I'm already starting to feel the burnout. I wrote a 14k first draft within a few days when I first started it, and I've been editing it in chapters over the past week or so. This is the last full chapter I had. Editing is such a painful, tedious process and it really does take a long time (at least for me) so I do feel like I need a bit of a break. In the meantime, I'd love to read your feedback - any ideas or suggestions; how you think I'm doing with character portrayals, etc. I'm still getting into the swing of this story, so any feedback will help me shape it. Reviews are a great motivator!**


	6. Chapter 6: Fixer Upper

**FIXER-UPPER**

Bucky woke to the smell of fresh coffee the following morning. He was warm and comfortable and didn't really feel like getting up, but he soon realized that this didn't feel like his bed. Glancing down at the blanket that had been draped over him, he sat up. His head felt heavy, as it almost always did after an episode, and he found himself struggling to remember exactly what had happened. The electroconvulsive part of his conditioning had messed with his memory to the point where there were sometimes gaps just in his day to day life – laundry left for days in the machine, saucepans left to boil over on the stove, conversations he couldn't recall. He was grateful in those moments to have Steve picking up the slack behind him, but still he resented himself for that necessity.

His sudden movement had sent a grating pain through the knuckles of his right hand and he brought his fist up to find the source, completely forgetting for a moment why it was bandaged. He stared at the pale wrapping, then everything came back to him. He turned his head to look to his right and spotted the bloody hole in the wall. Yep, that was still there, too. With a weary sigh he got to his feet.

Nellie was in the kitchen looking a hell of a lot more chipper than he felt – showered, dressed and enjoying a cup of coffee; he had no idea how she managed it. In the short time he had known her, he had never once seen her go to bed before 2am (being an involuntary night-owl himself, coupled with his sensitive hearing, he was able to keep track of such things, and after months of being shut in with little-to-no real mental stimulation, suddenly having someone new in his environment gave him something to focus on). Then again, aside from the dinners they'd shared, she did seem to run purely on caffeine.

"Morning," she greeted him, her warm smile reaching her eyes. He had seen enough false smiles in his time – attempts to calm him or otherwise conceal fear – and he found, especially these days, that he always appreciated the real ones. And hers was always somehow infectious; comforting. Despite the foggy feeling in his head, he felt the corners of his lips twitch up in response.

"Sleep okay?" she asked.

He nodded, realizing now that the blanket had been her. He ran a hand back through his hair in an attempt to tame it, but only seemed to make it worse. He was always a wreck in the morning.

"You?" he asked, watching as she rubbed gingerly at her neck.

"Fell asleep in the armchair," she admitted.

"What a waste of a perfectly good, expensive bed." Catching the questioning look she threw him, he added, "Who do you think signed for it?"

"You signed as James Barnes?" she asked, wondering if any of that paperwork had ever managed to get back to Tony.

"Yeah," he replied, sighing as he took a seat behind the counter, "I thought 'Winter Soldier' might have been a bit too conspicuous."

She chuckled, then a look of playful suspicion crossed her face. "Wait, how do you know it's good? You didn't test that out too, did you? Just decided to go through all my stuff? People don't keep their money under their mattresses anymore, Bucky. At least not anyone under sixty."

He grinned, then said in mock-seriousness, "You think I keep my money under my mattress?"

"Yeah, but I don't think the exchange rate is very high for rubles at the moment." Her smile faltered as something flickered across her face – worry that she may have taken the joke a little too far. But Bucky simply smirked. He much preferred this to having her fuss over him after the mess he'd caused the night before. It helped restore some sense of normalcy.

"Coffee?" she asked, motioning with her own cup to the machine on the bench.

"So it works?" he said.

"It works," she confirmed with a smile.

"Sure, I could use one."

"So you didn't sleep well?"

"It's more the waking up part I tend to have trouble with," he explained.

He watched her as she took out a fresh mug and set about pushing a bunch of buttons on the machine. Steve had shown him how to use it, but in his opinion it all seemed way more complicated than a simple cup of coffee should have been. "You realize you keep offering me stuff in my own apartment, right?" he pointed out, as she watched the steady stream of dark liquid issue from the spout.

She looked over and he thought he caught a touch of color creep into her cheeks. She was quick to recover. "What can I say? I was raised to be a host."

He smiled. "Your parents raise you that way?" he asked

The question struck her as very odd at first, then after a bit of thinking she remembered how many people had been orphaned back in his day; either by war or by disease. She'd had this same conversation – small talk, really – when she had first been getting to know Steve. Of course, his parents wouldn't have been alive now anyway, but as he had explained, they had both passed long before he had even joined the military. All he'd had left was Bucky.

"Them and my grandmother, I guess," she responded, as the machine's sounds ceased. "How do you take it?"

"Black, no sugar."

"Tough guy, huh?"

His smile widened and he accepted the freshly-filled mug from her, grateful for the warmth radiating from it against his palms.

"They live around here?" he asked, before taking his first sip. His eyebrows pulled together briefly as the unfamiliar taste hit his tongue. Steve had been buying the same brand of coffee since he had first moved in with him – Maxwell House. It was a brand that had been around since long before their time, and it was a taste that had given them comfort during the war when little else could; a little reminder of the home they had all left behind. Of course with all the modern leaps in its method of brewing, it didn't taste quite the same, but it was nothing compared to this. This was stronger, and suddenly he was sure he knew how she managed to get by with so little sleep.

"Nah, they're back in California," she replied, catching the tail-end of his reaction to the different taste. She was about to comment, but he managed to cut her off.

"You're from California?" His eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly.

"Yeah. Why do you sound so surprised?"

"You're pale for a Californian," he told her, eyes trailing over the parts of her skin that were exposed.

A feeling of self-consciousness that she hadn't experienced for many years swept over her, and the kitchen suddenly felt a lot smaller. She continued to sip her coffee, averting her gaze as she masked the effect the sudden gesture had on her. She had long-gotten past those feelings of teenage inadequacy, proud of her job and the people she got to work with, and confident in her abilities to do that job well. Sure, she'd had moments when she had first started, especially after meeting Natasha, where she had felt out of place. She was surrounded by good-looking people on a near-daily basis – she had gotten used to being the friend; the colleague. But at least at the end of the day she had gotten to leave that all behind (or at least she was left alone in the library, where she tended to pass out in the early hours of the morning). Dealing with the thoughts at home was a new experience. With Steve it was a different story. They had always been friendly, and she had always appreciated his good nature, but if she was being honest, he wasn't her type. Bucky was a good looking guy – she could only imagine the sort of women he went for – and, unfortunately for her, he was most definitely her type. It was always the dark and brooding ones. She blamed formative years of watching _Buffy_ for that.

Bucky read her reaction before refocusing on his drink, sensing her discomfort. The warmth of his coffee seemed to dissipate under a sudden cold trickle of self-hatred. He could only imagine how her view of him had changed after the night before.

"So," she began, hesitantly, after a beat of uncomfortable silence, "I thought I'd head out today and get some new plates and cups, maybe something to patch up the wall."

"You don't have to do that," he told her, feeling the shame of his actions roll over him once more. He looked up at her and she shrugged.

"I wanted to get out for a bit anyway. I need to get away from paperwork before I strain my eyes."

He smiled dully, but the gesture didn't quell the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. "I should be buying that stuff anyway."

"Do you know how to patch up a wall?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, and she realized from his expression that this wasn't the first time he'd had to.

"I wouldn't even know where to start," she said awkwardly, glancing away from him before he could catch that sudden realization.

"I can show you."

"Might come in handy," she smiled, "I do work around people who are prone to punching things, though usually that's other people, not walls."

"Well, you seem pretty capable of patching people up already," he said, raising his bandaged hand as if to prove that.

"I got first aid certified for a reason. You know, because if giant alien monsters ever invade again, it'll be real handy to know CPR."

This managed to pull another genuine chuckle from Bucky, surprising himself more than anything. Nellie glanced up as he rose from his chair and watched as he walked over to one of the cupboards and pulled out the box of Cheerios he had purchased on their grocery trip. He gestured towards her with the box as he took out a bowl for himself and set it down on the bench, hand moving up to hover above a potential second bowl as he waited for her response. Then he looked up and realized there wasn't a second bowl – he had broken all the others the night before. He lowered his hand and turned back with a sheepish look.

"You know what? You have this one." He slid it across the counter to her and turned back to scan the remaining options. She watched him with a bemused expression as he seemed to consider one of the larger leftover mugs.

"You are not eating cereal out of a mug," she told him.

"We ate all sorts of stuff outta cans during the war. A mug's fine."

She shot him an unimpressed look. "Just have the bowl, man," she said, pushing it towards him. "Before you end up spilling your chivalry all over the nice, clean bench."

He reluctantly closed the cupboard and dragged the bowl a little closer to himself to fill it. "You're not gonna eat?" he asked, as he poured in the cereal.

She shook her head. "I can't eat this early in the morning."

He still didn't seem entirely convinced, the feeling that she was simply pitying him nagging at the back of his mind. He realized he must have zoned out, because when he looked back up at her again he found her watching him carefully, holding out a spoon. He hadn't even heard her open the drawer. He took it from her, and then her expression became a little brighter, lit up with an idea.

"Do you want to come with me today? I mean if you feel up to it."

"Are you asking me out?" he joked tiredly, as he closed up the box.

She gave a sarcastic nod, with words to match it. "Yes, James. Will you go out with me to the local department store to buy plates?"

"And bowls," he added, as he headed to the fridge for milk.

"And bowls," she agreed.

"Okay," he said, taking a seat back behind the counter, carefully pouring the milk into his bowl, "But only if you let me buy you lunch afterwards."

She felt heat rise in her cheeks at the unexpected offer, and tried to hide it by taking a long sip of her coffee. She looked over at him, half to see if he had noticed, and half to pretend his words hadn't affected her at all, but found him smiling as he munched on a mouthful of Cheerios.

"I thought this was a fake date," she said.

"Yeah, but I can still buy you lunch on a fake date, right?" he countered, smirking. "You gotta eat sometime"

"Well, you've got me there."

He smiled down in to his bowl of cereal as he spooned up another mouthful, then looked back up at her. There was no trace of the night before left on his handsome features – no fear left in his eyes, replaced instead with an attractive playfulness. Her eyes flicked away. No. Don't do it, she told herself. That would be a dumb idea. For so many reasons, but namely that she was living with him. And she could only imagine the drama it would cause with Tony. But when she looked back at Bucky she felt some of that resolve give way. She could picture very clearly what he must have been like back in the forties; how charming and popular with the ladies he probably would have been. But the years of torture and abuse had chipped away most of that, leaving him instead with uncertainty and these mere glimmers of the man he had once been. He had moments, when he was with the right people, or under the right circumstances, where he would feel like himself, and hope returned to him that he was actually capable of getting better. But it was events like the night before that shattered that illusion. As she watched him, Nellie could see that internal struggle; the flirting mixed with the guilt of trying to get close to someone, knowing what he was.

"So, do you know any places around here we could go? I don't know the neighborhood very well, and I don't remember seeing anything the other day when we were out."

"To eat, or to shop?" he asked.

"Either."

"No idea," he replied, helpfully.

She reached into her back pocket and took out her phone. Tony had done her a big favor by equipping her with a device of his own creation. It was, of course, far more advanced than anything on the market, and had even been equipped with its own personal, personal assistant: N.O.R.M.A. (or as Tony had explained 'Nellie's Own Research-Making Assistant', which had sounded silly at first until she had found out what J.A.R.V.I.S. had stood for).

Bucky watched with suspicion befitting a man of his age as she set the piece of unfamiliar technology down on the counter.

"Hi, N.O.R.M.A.," she initiated. The device came to life, and a smooth, female voice replied.

" _Good morning, Nellie. How can I assist you today?"_

Bucky frowned, glancing from Nellie back down to the device that had addressed her by name.

"Can you tell me where the closest department store is?"

" _There's a JC Penney approximately six point two miles from your current location,"_ it replied almost instantly, unnerving Bucky even more.

Nellie turned to give him a considering look, nodding, but he seemed more focused on whoever, or whatever, was speaking to her.

"We could get an Uber?" she suggested to him, softly, as though to ensure the device knew she wasn't talking to it. He frowned suspiciously at the vaguely German-sounding word. "It's sort of like a cab," she explained. "Unless Steve lets you drive his car."

Bucky snorted, then looked thoughtful. "You know, I've got a motorbike," he replied, looking back at her. He couldn't help but smirk at the look that appeared on her face; somewhere between surprise and contemplation. "So long as you don't mind riding with me," he added, just to see the effect. She looked over at him and seemed to realize what he was doing, reeling in her expression.

"I don't think that's going to be practical," she heard herself reply, even as she imagined them racing along some coast-adjacent highway, her arms wrapped around his waist, breathing in the scent of his leather jacket…She gave herself a mental shake out of it.

In the end they settled on the Uber. There would be boxes of replacement dinnerware to carry, as well as bags of whatever impulse buys she managed to make, and since her years in New York had taught her reliance on alternative forms of transport (she'd had a car back home in California, but had moved to New York harboring the belief that her own vehicle would be more of an inconvenience than a blessing – which had proven to be true for the most part) ordering an Uber was practically second nature.

When the car finally pulled up and they both hopped in, the pair found themselves eyeing the driver as he greeted them, both looking for signs of recognition when his eyes fell on Bucky. But he simply asked them 'Where to?' and that was that.

Nellie didn't know what was stranger: the amount of times she and Bucky had managed to fall into each other's company since she had first moved in, or the way that it didn't feel weird at all. It had taken her longer to ease into the presence of the Avengers – not that she was ever really an anxious person, they had just been so hyped up by the media that if was a pleasant shock to find out how ordinary they all were (give or take a few state-of-the-art enhancements and superhuman abilities). She wondered if he had always been this easy to know, or if it was a need for more basic human contact that had him willing to spend more time with her after less than a week of knowing her. She still wasn't entirely sure about bringing him out so soon after the episode he'd had, but she was even less sure about leaving him at the apartment by himself to dwell on his demons. She had been there and knew from experience that distraction was one of the most effective ways of coping. She glanced over at him now, at the troubled way he stared out the window, then he seemed to feel her gaze and looked over. The change in his expression was dramatic, whatever dark thoughts had been haunting him, driven away by the reminder that he had company; that he had someone else on his side.


End file.
